


Memories

by missdewey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, F/F, Romance, Sexual Content, Spoilers, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-20
Updated: 2007-01-20
Packaged: 2018-10-01 02:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10178882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdewey/pseuds/missdewey
Summary: When loyalty and love are at odds, the choice is never simple.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

**Memories**

 

She had thought that graveyards were supposed to be silent. This one wasn't, though. The park that bordered the cemetery was bustling with activity: runners and dog-walkers and children playing while their parents picnicked under the warm summer sun.

It was appropriate, Hermione had decided after the first few visits. Ron would have hated being someplace quiet. After growing up in the Burrow, any place that wasn't full of noise and activity unsettled him.

The wind shifted, bringing with it a perfume that was all too familiar.

“I might have known I'd find you here,” a cool voice drawled. “It's a year today, isn't it?”

 

_“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Hermione chanted as she stalked away from the Great Hall. The winter wind bit at her skin; the thin material of her dress robes did little to keep her warm, but she would have gladly frozen to death at that moment if it meant she'd never have to see Ron's face again._

“‘You're fraternizing with the enemy, Hermione,’” _she mimicked, approaching the edge of the lake._ “‘What could Krum possibly want with you, other than to spy on Harry?’ _Oh, why does he have to ruin bloody everything?”_

_The sound of laughter startled her and she whirled around. “Oh, bravo, Granger,” Pansy Parkinson said, grinning at her in the moonlight. “Figured out that Weasley’s a pillock, have you? I wondered when that would happen. Had a bet on it, actually. Blaise won't be a bit pleased to hear about this.”_

_“Shove off, Parkinson,” Hermione said between clenched teeth. She wrapped her arms about herself to ward off the cold. “This is none of your business, and I'll thank you to leave me out of your ridiculous bets in the future.”_

_“My, my, wound a bit tight tonight are we? You should relax. Care for a smoke, or will Krum be missing you?” Pansy extended a hand, offering a packet of cigarettes. Hermione eyed them warily._

_“I don't smoke, and I don't care if he does,” she said stiffly._

_Pansy grinned at her. “That's a girl,” she said, and lit a cigarette._

_“Why do you-” Hermione cut off mid-sentence, unsure of what she wanted to ask. “Isn't smoking a Muggle habit? I'm surprised to see the likes of you indulging, Parkinson.”_

_Pansy closed her eyes and exhaled, little wisps of smoke curling around her face like dragon's breath._

_“I don't doubt that there are many things that would surprise you, Granger.”_

 

“Parkinson,” she whispered, turning to face the newcomer. Pansy looked well, if a bit thinner than she should have been. Her hair was shining in the sunlight, and her robes expensive and obviously new. In all her memories, Hermione could not remember a time when Pansy had looked anything other than perfectly groomed. “I'd heard you had been released.”

“Did you now?” The corner of Pansy's mouth curled upward in amusement. “It was only on the front page of the Prophet, Granger. Hardly insider information.”

Hermione felt the colour rising in her cheeks. Determined not to be caught off-balance, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Wallowing in my memories, I suppose, same as you.” She sobered a bit, the half-smile falling away. “For what it's worth, Granger, I'm sorry about Weasley.”

 

_“The problem with you Gryffindors,” Pansy told her quietly one day in the middle of Potions, “is that you're all willing to throw yourselves away on people who aren't fit to shine your boots. Look at Ginny Weasley, for example. She pines away for Potter like a lost mutt, and he looks at her like he would a piece of furniture.”_

_“Don't talk about Harry like that,” Hermione mumbled, measuring out a half a spoon of powdered pearl. She couldn't bring herself to disagree with Pansy's assessment, though._

_“Why shouldn't I?” Pansy murmured, stirring the cauldron with slow, precise strokes. “It's true, isn't it? And you let Weasley run around with that Lavender bint while he doesn't even look at you. Take my advice, Granger: don't waste yourself on people who are beneath you.”_

_“Oh, and I suppose Draco Malfoy is a prince among men. Tell me, Parkinson, what about you?”_

_Pansy smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile; it was twisted and bitter, and made her look far older than sixteen._

_“Draco is... convenient,” she said softly. “I've no interest in anything but his name and the benefits that come with it.”_

_Hermione stared at her for a long moment, unsure how to respond._

_“But how can you just... don't you want something more?”_

_Pansy carefully avoided her eyes, focusing on the vial she was filling with their completed potion. “Yes, Granger, I want more,” she said, her voice low and even. “And if you bothered to notice, you'd see that unlike Weasley, I look at you all the time.”_

 

Hermione clenched her fist around the bundle of flowers she'd brought. It seemed so silly now. What did the dead care for flowers?

“How is your husband?” she asked, fighting to keep her sudden embarrassment out of her voice.

“Draco?” Pansy asked, as if _your husband_ could have referred to any number of people. “He's as well as can be expected, I suppose. Spends most of his time trying to bully the Azkaban guards, or so I hear. I can't begin to imagine the state he'd be in if the Ministry hadn't removed the Dementors from that place.” She gave a slight shudder. “But then, I doubt I would have fared much better in that scenario.”

The image of Pansy in her cell, starved and dirty and staring blankly at the wall, had haunted Hermione's dreams for months, though the Dementors had left long before her sentencing. She suppressed a shiver.

“No,” she agreed, “I don't imagine you would have.”

 

_“Why?” she whispered the word against the pale skin of Pansy's back. She had beautiful skin, soft and white and cool to the touch. Hermione traced small circles along Pansy's spine, following the path they made with small, reverent kisses. ‘Why this, why now? Why me?”_

_Pansy turned in her arms and smiled down at her. “Do you really not know, Granger, or are you just looking for reassurance?”_

_Hermione hesitated a moment, letting her fingers drift softly across Pansy's bare thigh. “Reassurance,” she answered truthfully, and Pansy laughed._

_“Because, darling, you're worth more than the whole lot of them combined. Now, ask me another silly question, won't you?”_

 

Hermione knelt down beside the headstone, tracing the fine etching with the tip of one finger. _Ronald Bilius Weasley, beloved son. 1 March 1980 - 5 June 1998._ She pressed a kiss against the stone and laid the flowers down in front of it.

“You loved him,” Pansy stated, as though just realizing it was true.

“I did,” Hermione agreed. “You didn’t know him really, but he was a good man. Brave and thick-headed and loyal to the end. I miss him terribly.”

Pansy looked out over the field of stones, towards the park. “The sun will set soon,” she said. “Will you walk with me for a moment?”

Hermione smiled. “Of course.”

 

_“What are you on about, Granger?”_

_“You know damned well,” Hermione said, her voice shaking with anger. “I know you took it, Parkinson. For god's sake, why did you go to them?”_

_Pansy stood still for a moment, staring at Hermione as though she'd grown a second head. “Them, Granger? Who exactly do you mean? My family, or the Dark Lord?”_

_“Any of them,” Hermione answered fiercely, “all of them. You joined_ him. _How could you just... I don't understand. I thought ...”_

_“Thought what?” Pansy asked, her voice quiet. “That I would leave my family behind because I'm fucking a Mudblood?”_

_The words stung like a slap. Hermione drew a sharp breath and stepped backwards, betrayal written upon her face._

_“Let me enlighten you about a few things, Granger,” Pansy said. There was something cold in her tone, something dangerous that Hermione had never heard before. She pulled back her sleeve, revealing the livid black Mark that marred her once perfect skin. “This has nothing to do with you and me. This," she indicated the Mark with a sweep of her hand, "is about family, and loyalty. This is part of my birthright.”_

_“But if you don't believe in that pureblood nonsense-” Hermione began._

_“Personal politics are entirely beside the point,” Pansy said._

_They studied one another for a moment._

_“Do you?” Hermione asked quietly. “Believe it, that is.”_

_The corner of Pansy's mouth lifted. “Honestly, Granger, do you take me for an idiot? How could I maintain the myth of pureblood superiority when there are people like you here, proving it wrong with every damned thing you say or do?”_

_Something loosened in Hermione's chest, but it wasn't enough. “And yet you'll stand with them,” she said, not understanding and not wanting to believe it was true._

_“Yes,” Pansy answered. “Don't ask me to choose between you and my family, Granger. I promise you won't like the result.”_

_Hermione stepped forward, moving into the circle of Pansy's arms, and touched her cheek gently. ‘I won't ask you to choose,” she whispered, watching Pansy's eyes drift shut. Hermione leaned in and brushed her lips with a soft kiss, touching for the briefest of moments before pulling back._

_“I'll do it for you,” she said. She didn't look back as she left._

 

“I would have married Ron, you know, if not for... that is, if there had been time,” Hermione told her.

“I believe you would have,” Pansy said. She fingered her own wedding band, a silver ring studded with diamonds. “Do you think you would have been happy with him?”

Hermione shrugged and tilted her head skywards, letting the last rays of sunlight wash over her face. “I think so,” she answered slowly, considering the question. “Most of the time, anyway.”

“And the rest of the time?” Pansy asked, her voice carefully neutral.

Hermione stopped walking. Pansy halted, too, and turned to look at her.

“The rest of the time...” Hermione hesitated before answering. “The rest of the time, I would have wanted to be with you.”

 

_She had imagined the last battle plenty of times. In her mind, it had taken place in an open field, or in a forest, or perhaps most appropriately in a graveyard._

_Never once had she imagined the battle would come to Hogwarts._

_It was surreal, she thought, to be hiding under a desk in the Charms classroom while Bellatrix Lestrange taunted her, throwing hexes and insults with equal glee. She could see Professor Flitwick's neatly charmed notes on the blackboard, a remnant of the otherwise ordinary day that had been interrupted just a few short hours ago._

_“Come out, come out, oh why won't you play?” Bellatrix's shrill voice cut through her reverie. Hermione's wand lay against the wall, just out of reach, but she couldn't retrieve it without giving herself away._

_“Pity, really. I'd heard such tales about Potter's pet Mudblood, how brave and clever she is,” Bellatrix said mockingly. “And here I find she's just another scared child hiding under tables. How disappointing.”_

_The door opened, and a familiar voice swore. “Bellatrix, we need to hurry,” Pansy said. “There's nobody here, let's move on.”_

_“Nobody?” Bellatrix laughed, and Hermione winced at the closeness of her voice. “Then who do you suppose dropped this wan-”_

_A mad shriek of triumph let Hermione know that she'd been seen. She leapt to her feet, ready for action, but there was nothing to be done. Bellatrix levelled her own wand at her._

_“You've irked me long enough, little girl,” she said. “Don't cry, Mudblood, my lord will be sure to send your precious Potter after you soon enough.”_

_Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the surge of magic building around her._

_“Avada Kedavra.”_

_She opened her eyes just in time to watch Bellatrix’s body fall._

_“For Merlin’s sake, hurry,” Pansy said, grabbing Hermione’s wand and thrusting it at her. “Run, Granger, and don’t look back.”_

_Hermione caught her wrist. “Pansy,” she began._

_“Damnit, Granger, what part of ‘run like hell’ don’t you understand?”_

_Hermione pulled her close and brought their lips together. She poured every ounce of her fear and desperation and desire into the kiss, and Pansy met her push for push. They clung to one another for a moment, shaking, like the world would fall apart if they let go._

_“Don’t waste yourself on people who are beneath you,” Hermione whispered. Pansy’s eyes went wide as she recognized the words, and Hermione pressed another quick kiss against her mouth before she turned and ran._

 

Pansy’s breath caught. “That’s not fair, Granger,” she whispered. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Even if they’re true?” Hermione asked. “What if I said I’ve never stopped thinking of you, never stopped wanting you, and leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do?”

Pansy shook her head. “You can’t just-“ she began, but stopped.

“And why not?” Hermione asked, stepping closer. “You saved my life. I never got to thank you for that.”

“Testifying on my behalf counts as thanks enough, I’d say.”

“Does it? Because I can think of far more pleasant ways to express my gratitude.”

Pansy caught her by the wrist, pulling her close. “You should be careful, Granger,” she murmured. “Don’t offer anything you can’t afford to give.”

“Don’t worry,” Hermione replied, leaning in to close the last few inches that separated them. “I won’t.”


End file.
